King of Houston
by Undasque
Summary: She was ordered to expose him, to put him down for good. She was caught up in a web of lies, her deceit was perfect. In and out, she promised herself. In and out. But when the King of Houston grabs you, you got nowhere to run. AH, J/B, OOC
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Thanks for meschelw for improving it.**

 **Prologue**

 **Austin, TX – December**

„Listen up, everybody!"

The light in the small room dimmed and all she could hear was the murmur of the projector and hushed whispers of her colleagues.

"We've got a new case. We have to operate down in Houston".

Their boss stood up and tapped the touchpad. The flat screen on the wall brightened.

She glanced at him. He seemed stressed lately, like he wasn't at ease. One could say it was because of the character of their job. Living on the edge, the danger of it. But she knew better. He was upset and worried. The lines on his forehead were more visible. He barely talked to her. Even at home. Last couple of days he was coming to their apartment late at night and leaving before she was up. Something was not right, and she decided to finally confront him later. As she made her decision, she shifted her attention to the screen.

"Here's our target. Our friends at H.P.D finally added everything up and it appeared he's not some weird urban legend. For years they were looking for him, the ultimate underworld boss. Our target here owns everything down there. They named him the King of Houston."

She fixed her gaze in the photography displayed on the screen. The face. The name listed below.

"Male, 37, born and breed Texan. Comes from old money. Drugs, trafficking, pimping, slaves, theft, blackmails, ransoms, murders, you name it, it's all in his files. The governor even is in his pocket."

"Then why H.P.D didn't arrest him?" Jake asked.

She really liked Jake. He was always getting straight to the point. He was an excellent agent; he saved her ass more than once. She did it for him too. They were a team after all. The team. She, Jake and Sam. The musketeers, they joked. And the boss, of course.

The velvet voice of the boss cut the silence as he answered, "No hard evidence at all. He's covering his tracks like a pro he is. Recently H.P.D had someone in the witness protection but it backfired, he was taken care of before he had a chance to spill his guts."

"Means he's got someone on the inside," she stated calmly.

"Sure thing," the boss didn't even look at her. His jaw tensed. "That's why we got the case. We need some hard evidence. We need to put him down." He exhaled. "All of you have a different task, so you'll be briefed separately."

"Why? That's not how we work," Sam protested, surprised and confused.

"I know. But I have my orders. We have to put the plan in motion," the boss replied. "It comes from above."

He was met with silence. He started to put the projector off.

She noticed his long fingers trembling.

"I don't like it, man," Jake stated. "It's not right."

"I don't like it either, trust me," the boss finally raised his head. "Bella, you're first, so stay. You guys I'll brief later."

Jake and Sam left the room, shaking heads and grunting, closing the door behind them.

Her boss took a seat across and sighed. He looked like hell. It was obvious he was fighting some kind of internal battle. She wondered how he would choose to play it, whatever it was.

"Agent Swan, I received straight orders for you related to this case," he said and took a deep breath.

She smiled bitterly at the formal way. They were alone, for Christ sake.

"Yes, sir, I'm all ears, sir," she played along.

He shuddered and finally met her eyes. There was so much pain, he looked like he could cry. His handsome features were distorted by unspoken emotions, lips trembling. His palms, flat on the table between them before, morphed into white-knuckled fists.

She suddenly felt anxious.

"Agent Swan, you are officially assigned to undercover valentine's mission on our target."

 **A/N Is it worth to continue?**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Michelle (meschelw) made this readable. Thank you!**

Chapter 1

 **Houston, TX - May**

"Just the water, please," Isabella said to the waiter. "I'm waiting for someone."

The fancy restaurant was popular, so it was crowded. The miracle was she was able to make a reservation for two at such short notice.

She sighed as she observed the glass with the sparkling water the waiter'd brought her. She was supposed to make a contact soon and get along with the plan.

The plan. It was ridiculous from the very beginning to the much desired ending.

It took almost half a year to set everything in motion. Half a year of anxiety, of anticipation and frustration.

She hated it. Just as she hated everything. The city, beautiful, yet pretentious and strangely more humid than Austin. Her apartment in West U. They located her in a very nice neighborhood, the furniture was designer, the shelves full of books. They set her with fat bank account but she hated it too.

She had to play along and she didn't have a choice. Not anymore. She signed the papers. Signed her life away.

Isabella bit her lip as she recalled her quarrel with the boss.

" _How long did you know?" She yelled from the top of her lungs. "How long?"_

" _For some time, but it's not-"_

" _I don't care! I fucking hate you! How could you do this to me? I thought we were something, that we had something!" She tried to fight her tears as she screamed the painful words in his face. "You didn't even try-"_

 _His eyes widened, he interrupted her angrily._

" _You think I didn't try? I fucking tried everything! I tried to pull strings, tried to call on the old favors and everything went to hell! All I gained were suspicions about us! Fuck, I'd rather took a bullet than send you on this mission! Every fucking time I think about you near this animal I want to die!"_

 _She laughed bitterly and shook her head._

" _Damn, meet me halfway. It's not on me," he spat out and threw the laptop from the table. It landed on the floor and shattered to pieces. She just looked at it and shrugged._

" _They had chosen you because you were a perfect candidate," he said more calmly._

 _She noticed it more than once before; he tried to hide behind his position and authority, tried to be official and bossy every time he felt stressed or unsure, behind his orders, his classified info. But all she saw was his cowardice._

" _Is that so? And what the hell makes me so perfect to send me on this disgusting, suicide mission?" She was polite, but her voice could cut the glass to tiny shards._

" _You have the best background among all the female agents in our agency," he explained, ignoring her sarcasm. "And you…," he hesitated._

" _What?"_

" _And you succeeded before," he finished his sentence and sighed._

" _What the fuck? Really? I succeeded? McCarthy was a dumb fuck, it took two dates only and he spilt his guts already! And I was under surveillance and was wearing fucking wire!" She yelled. "I can't believe this shit!"_

 _She stood up and began to gather her things._

" _I'm sorry, it's in your file, Isabella," he said. "Please, don't make it harder than it is. You can always say no."_

" _Seriously? The minute I decline I'll be out. You know it, Edward," she whispered, tired of the fight. "You want me out?"_

" _Of course not. But maybe you should reconsider this option."_

" _Fuck you," she said and stormed out of the room._

As soon as she signed to papers, the endless meetings started. Another team took over and her boss didn't attend. The details were classified.

They discussed everything. Grilled her over and over.

.

" _Who am I gonna be?" Isabella asked Bree Johnson, the head of the new team._

 _Bree smiled, completely relaxed. Her stance made Isabella less anxious._

" _We decided that you'll be yourself."_

" _Excuse me?" Isabella coughed, surprised._

" _You have the background we need and it has to be flawless. He's gonna check it thoroughly and he's gonna check it again. And again. We can't have any troubles with your story, unless you want to end at the bottom of Buffalo Bayou."_

" _But-"_

" _You'll be yourself. Isabella Swan, Forks, Washington, daughter of Charles Swan, chef of the local police. University of Washington graduate, currently writing her PhD in Comparative Literature in Houston. Everything is perfect, just think about it."_

" _And the agency?" Isabella asked, confused._

" _What agency?" Bree smiled again._

" _There will be a three years gap."_

" _No, it won't. We got it covered," Bree stated. "You were shot in a robbery that went wrong, recovered, but suffered in PTSD and temporary memory loss. Three years of therapy and voila, you're good to continue your studies."_

" _It's just stupid," Isabella rolled her eyes._

" _Got better explanation of your bullet marks?" Bree asked, her perfect eyebrow raised in question._

 _Isabella grimaced. Her scars could raise suspicions. Goddamn the shooter who managed to miss her bulletproof vest and hit her arm and leg._

" _But it's my life. If something went wrong…"_

" _We got it under control. You need to trust us and focus on the mission."_

 _Bree was so sure of herself._

 _._

" _You should go back to your natural hair color," Bree suggested. "We know he likes brunettes."_

" _No fucking way, I like my hair blond," Isabella shook her head. "Just leave it."_

" _And that stubborn attitude of yours. It could get you in trouble. We assumed he prefers his women more…submissive," Bree added shyly._

" _You assumed?" Isabella snorted and observed with pleasure as Bree's stoic face suddenly changed just for the moment._

" _We got in touch with his ex-wife, but…she wasn't very helpful."_

" _I said leave it. I'm not coloring, curling up or cutting my hair, is that clear?"_

 _._

" _Isabella, we should discuss the best solution the birth control issue, please-"_

" _I'm going to throw up, I'm done here."_

 _._

" _What if he's not interested?"_

" _You have to make him interested. We got only one chance."_

 _._

Five months of fights. Five months of solitude. The same day she learned about her fate she asked her boss to move out. He did it without a word.

But he called her often; she wasn't answering. The messages he left she knew by heart.

" _It changes nothing. I will always love you. Please, answer your phone. I miss you. I fear for you. I'm going crazy. I love you."_

It was the last evening of her old life. That's why she wanted to have a dinner with him. She didn't want to end it like that.

But Edward was late.

She didn't know how long she sat, looking at the glass, the water not sparkling anymore.

Her iPhone vibrated and she opened new message.

" _I couldn't make it. I'm sorry."_

Isabella felt one single tear rolling down her cheek. She brushed it angrily with her palm and decided to go home.

"It's on the house," the waiter startled her; he appeared out of nowhere and placed new glass with amber liquid in front of her.

"Thank you, but…" she stuttered.

"The owner of our restaurant would like to introduce himself, if you please," the waiter said, his voice trembling slightly.

"What? I mean…I don't know what to say…"

"He's standing next to the bar, on the left."

She glanced in that direction and froze. It couldn't be. It wasn't meant to happen now.

But there he was. Her target. Her nightmare. The curse of her life.

The King of Houston.

 **A/N Thoughts? Let me know!**

 **(No idea how to make a banner. Anyone?)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Beta/Pre-Reader: Meschelw. Thank you, hun.**

Chapter 2

Houston, TX - May

She swallowed hard as she realized that everything went to shit.

He knew.

He knew about her and that's why he made his appearance this particular evening.

She was supposed to meet him the very next day. She had a meeting scheduled, for fuck's sake. Everything so perfectly staged.

She was looking at him with wide eyes as he approached her table, tall, confident and steady. He sat across her without the invitation.

He goes heavy, she thought. He's carrying some small caliber.

He didn't say a word. Just sat there, at ease, his silver zippo lighter shining in dimmed artificial light as he lit his cigarette.

'You can't smoke in here,' she blurted the first thing that popped in her mind.

He just stared at her, his blue, blue eyes motionless, he didn't even blink. She suddenly felt like a prey, sized up, hypnotized and unable to run.

'Isabella Swan, I believe you wanted to meet me,' he spoke finally. His voice was deep and hoarse, nothing like Edward velvet baritone. She hated it already.

'And who the fuck are you?' she asked, angry and frustrated.

 _Easy, easy_ , she warned herself immediately. _Tread carefully, you dumb bitch, or you will doom it._

'My name is Jasper Whitlock,' he replied calmly, his eyelids still frozen, unblinking stare cutting her to the bone, 'but you know it already. Miss Swan'.

 _Damn it to hell._

'Well-' she started her sentence, but the blue eyed devil raised his hand to silence her.

'I'm a very private person, miss Swan. You've done some very questionable research or you've failed to notice I hardly meet nobodies who's asking for it. In fact, I don't meet with gold-diggers, journalists, employees of the police or any government founded agencies or else. You really should be surprised that your formal request was accepted and that I decided to listen whatever you have to say,' he said.

'Two requests,' she added, still angry.

'Yes, two of them. I also decided that I wouldn't be wasting my precious time tomorrow as you came here, to my restaurant. I'm a very busy man and I hardly deal with bullshit, so out with it, you got two minutes,' he took a lungful drag of his Marlboro as he finished his sentence.

She bit the inside of her cheek in order to not to reach across the table and punch him.

'I'm not journalist, I'm not with the police, I'm not a whore who's after you money. My father is. A policeman, not a whore, of course. I'm a student who is trying to write a paper, to finish her studies and some cosmic irony made you the one who has everything I need. I was going to beg you to help me and allow me the access to your family records, your library and to small area of your yard where the graves are. I'm not interested in your private, busy, pathetic life. I'm interested in nineteenth century. I wanted to show you my ideas and concept of my thesis. Do you know the legends? That's what I dig. But you know what? I don't need you. Go fuck yourself.'

Eyes sparkling, her face reddened she finished her torrent of words, grab a glass and drank is content in one gulp.

 _Whisky, all right._

She put the glass on the table with little more force than necessary and stood up.

'Thanks for a drink. Be kind and pay for my water too, see, my date won't show and my evening is ruined. I won't be eating. It wasn't a pleasure to meet you,' she hissed and turned around to leave.

Yeah, here, I blew it. Let them shoot me, fire me, fuck them, fuck Edward, I'm outta here.

"Miss Swan?"

She started to march towards the exit. Then she noticed, that the restaurant was silent and nearly empty. The customers must have left. Something was terribly wrong.

And something was wrong with her. She was supposed to see things like that. She is trained to, yet she allowed the short conversation to swallow her whole.

'Miss Swan?' he repeated, angrier this time.

She hesitated and stopped her retreat.

'You really want me to help you?' he asked.

 _Fuck._

'Yes' she replied silently.

'You will have to work for it,' he stated.

'What do you mean: work for it?', she turned to face him abruptly. 'How dare you?'

He didn't even move. He was like a statue, the only element of the picture making it somehow dynamic was smoke of his cigarette. He was the king giving orders, he was the King of Houston.

'No, Miss Swan. You're not my type at all. Please expect a call from my assistant tomorrow afternoon. After your therapy session, of course. You're excused.'

"What the f-' she stammered.

'Good night, Miss Swan,' he said meaningfully.

'But-'

His features didn't change. His posture didn't change. Just one hardly visible eye twitch.

"Out,' he barked.

And Isabella did as she was told.

For the first time of her life she was scared.

...

Isabella crossed her legs and huffed.

'it's not gonna work, Tanya,' she said. 'He's a fucking lunatic.'

Tanya Denali was sitting at her huge desk.

The false background they have given Isabella, the unfortunate valentines agent stated that she was in need of weekly therapy after 'the robbery'. Officially she was better, but, as her files shown, she wanted to make sure of her psyche. Maybe she was addicted a little to sharing her thoughts with the shrink. Officially.

But Tanya was in fact her one and only way to contact the agency. She was the profiler and psychologist, the installed her in Houston six months earlier. It was safer this way.

'I mean, he even knew that I had appointment with you, goddamnit. Are you sure this place's not bugged?'

'Don't be paranoid, Bella,' Tanya smiled. 'Our people are checking it out at least twice a week. It's clear.'

Isabella glanced around nervously.

'Bella, you're our only chance. We hope you do your work. Edward hopes you do it.'

'Don't mention him, please. He stood me up.'

'No, he got intel our target was there,' strawberry blonde therapist undercover explained, trying to reason with Isabella.

'Whatever.'

'Look, I know it's hard. You've already made a progress, see? Keep your good work up, he's interested.'

'Good work, my ass. I nearly fucked it up,' Isabella shook her head. 'I'm useless.'

'You want me to tell them red? Tell them you want to abort mission at its very beginning? Think about it.'

Isabella sighed.

A failure. A no good agent. Unemployed. Coward. Traitor of the country. That's what she was gonna become.

'No.'

'Good, Bella,' Tanya nodded. 'See you next week.'

 **A/N. RL problems. But I'm back. Please leave me a word.**


	4. AN

A/N

I'm sorry I haven't updated in ages.

I've broken my wrist badly back in February and for the last five months or so I've lived my miserable life in constant pain, waiting in endless lines at the hospitals, clinics and so. And since I'm oldschool and weird, I couldn't write– everything I write I write by hand first. Everything. I simply can't open my Word and put my thoughts in it.

Hope you forgive me.

Now I'm finally out of casts and orthotics, my penmanship is weird, strange and scratchy, but I'm finally able to write. I'll be back soon.

Please let me know if you're still with me.


	5. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Thank you, Michelle, for pointing out my mistakes and for being there for me.**

Chapter 3

 **Houston, TX – May**

Isabella huffed, frustrated, as she closed the door of Tanya Denali's office with a little too much force and hurried down the stairs.

It's been two weeks. The King of Houston, that fucker, told her to expect contact two weeks ago. Two pointless visits with her fake shrink and her true only contact with the Agency and Isabella knew nothing new. Nobody contacted her yet, and Tanya? Tanya was as helpful as blister after a long run. Besides, Isabella didn't trust her at all. Two weeks and not a word about Edward or the rest of the team. There was nothing to talk about. This session they just sat there, Tanya shuffling through some papers and Isabella smoking and staring at the ceiling, biting her lips and her leg bouncing so annoying that it hurt.

 _Goddamit, I should quit this shit, abort the mission and go back up to Forks._

Her inner monologue would have make her father blush; she was sure of it. Bitter smile appeared on her face as she dug her iPhone out of her bag and tried to check if someone, anyone, messaged her or called. Nothing. Nothing to break the stupor up.

'Give me your purse, bitch, and that fancy phone!'

Isabella turned left and smiled again. She even felt a tiny prick of joy. Two punches and a kick and the guy would be licking her boots, lying on the pavement. She craved some action.

'Piss off, punk,' said the voice behind her back. She turned around as the thug who suddenly wasn't in any desperate need of her belongings took off in a hurry and disappeared behind the corner.

 _No fun, no fun at all._

'I got this,' she spat angrily at the man who chased her joy of the day away. 'I could have handled it.'

God, he was tall. 6'2'' at least. He was blonde and handsome, three-day old facial hair trimmed nicely. He was dressed in black t-shirt, tight enough to show his well-formed muscles. No jacket, he didn't even bother to hide his holster. Black jeans and worker boots. She bet he had at least two knives hidden in them. He sure looked intimidating and she understood why the thief had run so fast.

'Maybe. Maybe not. I ain't have time for this,' he drawled, annoying toothpick moving between his perfect teeth as he spoken the words lazily. 'My name is Peter and I'm here on behalf of Mr. Whitlock. Your presence is requested and I'm here to collect you.'

'Don't you guys have phones, Jesus,' Isabella was beyond angry. 'What the fuck is wrong with you? The hell you'll collect me!'

The man just smiled.

'Miss Swan, I _will_ collect you one way or another. But I believe you'll be willing to cooperate,' he spat the toothpick out. 'if you know what's good for you.'

'What? You should know I don't respond well to threats, so fuck off.'

'I was told you were the one who wanted to visit Mr. Whitlock house. It's not a threat, Miss Swan.'

'Yeah, I wanted to, but-'

She really wanted to. She wanted to finish this ridiculous mission and get back to her life. To the simplicity of it. She missed it. She missed Edward. She missed being _herself_. But not like that. All she wished was to control the situation, to make her moves on her terms.

And suddenly she realized the bitter truth. She wasn't the architect anymore. She wasn't in charge. She needed to forget who she was. She needed to play the King's game.

 _For now._

So she nodded.

'Shall we?'

Peter pointed at black Toyota Tacoma pickup. She rolled her eyes as he opened the passenger door for her and she climbed inside, still angry. Now she was a package. Packages don't have any say. Packages don't decide.

 _Ride with the wave, Bells._

Peter was silent as he drove. She spotted her chance to not to be a puppet for a moment and decided to take it.

'Why do you carry a gun, Peter what's your name?' she asked. There wasn't a word about him in the files provided by the Agency.

'Just Peter,' he answered, eyes on the road. 'It's a dangerous city, Miss Swan, and dangerous things can happen to those who don't understand it. Besides, it's perfectly legal.'

She sighed. 'How long have you worked for Mr. Whitlock?'

'Long enough to know to not to answer dumb questions, so save your breath,' he said, perfectly calm and focused on driving. He turned the radio on.

She shrugged and turned her eyes to the window. The scenery changed. They were riding up to River Oaks.

She'd been here once on an unsuccessful trip to Looscan Library where she found nothing useful, nothing of interest. Yes, she was going to take her cover story _that_ seriously. The Agency put her on the path to PhD? They paid for it? She was going to accept that. The months of preparing her to the mission have been fruitful. She had her ideas now and it was happily entwined with her target. Such a luck. One interesting aspect of the whole charade.

But River Oaks? God, those fuckers were _loaded_.

She had read about the Whitlock Mansion, but she couldn't find the address. Google street view was unable to locate it. And here she was. At the lair of the Devil.

The car stopped and she saw a gate. It was old, huge and ornamented so precisely she gasped. The gate opened and they drove through. She wanted to see the house, but the only thing that appeared before her eyes was never ending, shadowy oak alley. The mansion itself were nowhere to be seen.

Peter coughed silently and she turned her head left to look at him.

'You don't belong here, Miss Swan,' he said in a rush, like he was afraid to speak the words.

'Excuse me?' She was surprised, her eyes wide as she wanted to simultaneously look at her driver and search for the house.

'You don't. Belong. Here,' he spat. 'Better run if you still have a chance.'

'You don't have to worry about me, just Peter,' she dismissed him. 'I can take care of myself.'

'I'm not worried about you,' he said and looked at her with so much hatred and disgust she should be running and screaming.

But she missed it, because she finally saw the mansion.

And she suddenly felt anxious.

The play begun.

 **A/N**

 **Thoughts?**

 **Drop me a line, please.**

 **BTW - Do you know who my Peter is? I think I left some clues here and there..**

 **I'd like to thank all y'all for all your wishes and kind words. I'm forever in your debt.**

 **If you want to know some more about KOH, go and sing up at** **BetterinTexasFiction -** **.com** **. I plan to post some pics. A lot of it.**

 **Thank you.**


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